ifitbeyourwill S06E22 • Rubber Band Gun

There’s a point where trying to sound like your heroes stops being useful. For Kevin Basko, that moment didn’t lead to reinvention so much as release. Under the name Rubber Band Gun, Basko has built a body of work that values motion over mythology—records that feel lived-in, slightly unfinished in the right ways, and unconcerned with landing in any single genre lane. Rubber Band Gun moves freely between indie rock, psych textures, and playful concept albums, but the sound is held together by process. Basko works with a hybrid analog setup—tape machines, outboard gear, and an aging computer that forces decisions instead of postponing them. These aren’t aesthetic choices so much as practical ones. Limits speed things up. Speed keeps the songs honest.

That instinct was sharpened early. Basko went from writing lyrics in backyards to getting an unexpected elevator text that pulled him out of music school and into Foxygen’s touring band. The jump offered a close-up look at how records move through the world, but it didn’t replace his DIY core. If anything, it reinforced it: whatever the scale, the work still had to feel alive. The clearest expression of that philosophy came with RBG25, a self-imposed challenge to release a flood of albums in a single year. What could have read as excess became a reset. Working fast forced Basko to trust his ear, commit to arrangements, and learn when a song was finished—not perfect, just done. Mic placement mattered more. Tempo became a quiet organizing force. The songs stopped asking for permission.

Tempo comes up often in Rubber Band Gun’s world, less as a technical detail and more as a mindset. Faster tempos discourage fussing. They keep doubt from settling in. The music moves forward before self-editing can flatten it. Basko is openly skeptical of the blank page. Total freedom, he argues, is a trap. Constraints—time limits, concepts, arbitrary rules—give songs something to push against. That’s how En Passant, a chess-themed record written in a three-day sprint, came together. The idea wasn’t precious; it was functional. Influence shows up here as method, not mimicry. Dylan’s presence is felt in motion and reinvention, not sound-alike gestures. Film and comedy shape pacing and structure. The goal isn’t to reference, but to absorb.

Rubber Band Gun doesn’t sell a grand theory of creativity. It just keeps making the case, record by record, that momentum matters. Keep projects moving. Release often. Let listeners meet the work halfway.

Sometimes the fastest route to your own voice is simply refusing to wait for it.

https://earthlibraries.com/collections/rubber-band-gun